


Undertow and Sway

by Lake (beyond_belief)



Series: covert and clandestine [4]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Professions, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2012-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 20:15:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What Fick and Colbert are doing Stateside (hint: it involves feelings!) while Reyes and Patrick are off assassinating people in Champcenest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undertow and Sway

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I needed to get back into the GK mindset and thought, why not add a little to this 'verse?

Brad corners him in the locker room. Nate can see at least three outs, but takes none of them. Instead, he leans his head back against the cool metal door of the locker that Brad's pinned him against, and meets Brad's stormy gaze. "Was there something you wanted, Sgt. Colbert?"

"You look a little more worn out than usual, Sir."

"You'd look tired, too, if you were sending men out to kill."

"Pappy and Reyes will be fine." Brad sounds sure of it, and Nate knows that Brad believes it. He believes it himself, since every member of his team is a highly-trained, capable warrior. But something always itches underneath his skin when he has to send them out on a mission while staying behind himself.

He kicks a foot against Brad's. "You followed me in here just to assure me our men would be fine," he says, letting a little incredulity creep into his tone.

"That, and to tell you we should get a beer before I take you home."

"Oh, you think you're taking me home?"

Brad steps back. He's grinning. "I know it, Sir."

Nate turns it over in his mind for a moment. They've been doing... whatever this is, for months now. In hot and dusty rooms in hot and dusty cities, in cold attics in countries no one could ever know they'd been to. Once outside, both in camo that so matched the woods they were occupying that Nate could barely tell where Brad was, even as Brad had put his hands on Nate's thighs and opened his mouth for Nate's cock.

Nate can count on one hand the number of times they'd had an actual bed.

"Maybe we could skip the bar part," he suggests, and is rewarded with the slow, lopsided smile that Brad so rarely gives anyone. "Your place or mine?"

"I live in an all-white apartment with a treadmill and a television that takes up half of one wall. Therefore, I vote for yours."

Nate would kiss him if they weren't still at work. Instead, he gives Brad his address.

They leave the building through the underground garage. Nate gets to his house first, despite being sure that Brad is breaking the speed limit on every street. He parks in the garage and leans against the back bumper of his car, watching out the open door for Brad's hulking pickup truck.

Somehow, standing in the light of the garage and waiting for Brad to arrive feels more intimate than anything they've done so far. Nate's not sure he wants to parse that feeling yet. He pushes it to a corner of his mind as Brad's truck pulls up.

Brad kisses him once they're inside, his hands shoving Nate's t-shirt halfway up his chest, and Nate walks him the five steps backwards into the smooth door of the refrigerator, leaning all his weight on Brad to keep him there, wanting to keep him there, so that he can mouth Brad's neck until he's memorized the taste of his skin.

Brad lets him, as he puts his own hands all over Nate, underneath Nate's clothes, like he's trying to touch all of him at once.

"Brad," Nate chokes out, as Brad's hands close tight on his hips.

"No, don't tell me you think we should stop," is Brad's reply, even though it wasn't what Nate had said, only what his heart had just beat out against his ribs, because fucking his subordinate is _not_ the most respectable decision Nate has ever made. Then Brad's head hits the fridge as he tips it back, breaking away only enough to meet Nate's eyes. "Show me your bedroom."

The collar of Brad's shirt is stretched, like Nate had yanked on it too hard. He lifts a hand to press his thumb gently against the spot where he can see Brad's pulse beating quick and steady above his collarbone. Quietly, Brad says his name.

Nate asks himself if he'll ever be able to send Brad out on a mission again, once he's gotten Brad stripped down and spread out on the sheets.

He says, "The bedroom's this way," and he says, "No, I don't want to stop."


End file.
